“You sure you want a bodyguard who steals, Yanko?”
“I don’t steal anymore.”
Yanko didn’t point out the canteens; these were extenuating circumstances. Besides, he was more interested in the hounds, in trying to ascertain if they had any magical aura about them. But he dared not probe openly, not with the mage right there. They might be out of his range, anyway. He would have to wait until they got closer, possibly a dangerous proposition.
The mage came close to the light of the carriage, and the garment he held came into view. “Those are your discarded bandages, Falcon,” Yanko said.
“Great. It’s my blood they’re after.”
“Probably because I didn’t leave any bandages lying around the house.”
The handler unleashed the dogs, and they tore away, the pack splitting, two going around one side of the house and two going the other way, their noses to the ground. Seeing them made Yanko nostalgic for his own hounds. They had been a concession to his father, a way Yanko could help with the family hunts, even if he couldn’t do the actual killing. He had taught the dogs to track and help Falcon and the others, but mostly they had been friends. He hoped that wherever the family had gone, they had taken the pups, and that everyone was all right.
“We’re not staying here, are we?” Lakeo whispered. “They’re already on our trail.”
The hounds had disappeared into the darkness behind the house, but their bays rose above the trees, traveling ahead of them. They were in the orchard, and they would be in the forest soon.
“Yanko.” Falcon touched his shoulder and pointed past him, so he wouldn’t miss it. “The other carriages are going to join in. They’re leaving the village. Where did you say you put the carriage?”
“Thero’s shed behind the bakery.” Yanko waved toward the far end of the village, the end closest to the pass and the road they needed to take to escape.
“If you two take the loop trail, you can probably get to it without being seen.”
“We’ll never stay ahead of the hounds,” Lakeo said. “Unless you’re going to divert them? You can’t keep ahead of them, either. They’ll be on you in minutes.”
“I’m hoping I won’t have to divert them. Yanko?”
“Yes. I’m trying.” Yanko had already closed his eyes and was stretching out with his mind, passing the myriad wildlife bedded down for the night, the owls and wolves on the prowl, and finally encountering the eager minds of the hounds.
They seemed normal to him, like all other excited dogs on the hunt, and he greeted them with the friendly exuberance of a comrade. As animals usually were, the hounds were surprised by his touch, but they slowed down, paying attention to him. He showed them the image of his own hounds and tried to imply that he, too, was a hound of sort, one of their brethren rather than a handler. Then he imparted a message that he hoped would appeal to them.
When he opened his eyes, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and blackness danced before his eyes.
Hands gripped his shoulders. “Yanko?”
If not for his brother’s grip, he would have fallen backward. Or forward. He grimaced at the cliff that dropped away a couple of feet in front of him. He truly did need a bodyguard, and not simply for battles.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve just been overexerting myself. I need a long night’s rest.”
Lakeo snorted. “That’s not going to happen. Listen. They’re getting closer.” She fingered the bow she had taken from the house.
“Are they?” Falcon asked. “It sounds like... I think they went left at the fork. Yanko, did you talk to them?”
“I think I convinced them to visit that old oak at the end of the lake, the one where those squirrels enjoy frolicking.”
Indeed, even as they spoke, the baying of the hounds moved away from them, paralleling the lake instead of heading farther up the hill toward their cliff. The hunters with their lanterns had passed through the orchard and started up the trail. The intervening foliage hid their lights, but their shouts were audible. They were following the hounds’ lead.
Falcon thumped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now’s your chance. Get as big of a head start as you can. They’ll probably see the carriage drive away, and they’ll be after you as soon as they realize it’s you.” His grip tightened on Yanko’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
No, Yanko wasn’t sure at all. But he managed to say, “Yes. Find our father, Falcon. He may need you. They all might.”
“All right. I’ll head up to the Bree place. I can make it up there, even on crutches. Ma Bree has some rudimentary healing skills if I recall correctly, and if nothing else, they have donkeys. They should let me borrow one.”
Even though Falcon was a trained soldier now and capable of taking care of himself, Yanko hated to let him go off alone wounded. He hoped he wouldn’t one day regret that they had split up.
“Be careful,” he whispered.
“You too.” Falcon pulled him into a one-armed hug, favoring that injured shoulder.
Yanko squeezed him back.
Lakeo was already standing, ready to start down the trail, but she didn’t rush their farewell. Yanko made sure Falcon got to his feet and was heading away before trotting past her to lead the way. Wondering if this might be the last time he would see his home, he turned back toward the house and the lake before jogging into the trees.
He almost tripped. Smoke and flames were leaping from the roof of the old house, brightening the sky and the fields in all directions. His shoulders slumped. They were burning his home.
Chapter 6
T
he setting sun blazed red across the sea when the carriage rolled into the Port of the Red Sky Wars almost two days later. Along the journey, Yanko and Lakeo had alternated sleeping and watching their backs, afraid the wizard, the mage hunter, and all of their cohorts would come barreling down the mountain and catch up with them.
Fortunately, he and Lakeo had slipped out of the village without being noticed. Yanko had used the last of his strength to camouflage the carriage as it rolled out of the shed and onto the road. Then he had passed out, his mind refusing to manipulate another atom of energy. Lakeo had managed to figure out how to steer the contraption, keeping it on the road and heading toward the coast until Yanko woke up the next morning. He didn’t know what they would have done if they’d had to walk all the way to the city.
“I’ve never seen so many buildings in my life,” Lakeo whispered, opening the hatch in the top to stand up and watch their approach, even though the front window showed the white-washed houses sufficiently. “Do multiple people live in each of them?” she asked. “What’s the population? I can’t even imagine. All the touching, brushing of arms. It must be so crowded.”
“Yes.”
Yanko barely heard her. They had crested the last of the ridges, and the harbor had come into view. He was looking for signs of the trouble Zirabo had written about. A line of warships stretched across the entrance to the sea, and he wondered if it was a blockade. He hoped not. They needed to get out that way. The streets seemed much quieter than when he had been here a week earlier for his test. The lizard skeleton still rose from the shallows near the docks, but no young applicants were swinging from its rib bones today.
“We’re going to sell the carriage, right?” Lakeo called down. “And buy passage aboard a ship?” Her hips wriggled, as if she were dancing at the idea. Was she that eager to leave Nuria?
Yanko supposed if trouble was spreading across the continent, then a person with no loyalties to anyone might not have a reason to stay. He couldn’t imagine not having loyalties. He patted the faded blue velvet seat, recalling rides in the vehicle with his family as a boy. His brother had found out there were storage cupboards beneath the seat and had tried to stuff Yanko into one. That had been before Falcon had decided his little brother was worth protecting.
“Yes,” he called back, as if he knew where one went to sell magical carriages. He had a vague notion of standing at a busy intersection with a sign. He might have traveled more than Lakeo, but his father had always been in charge of money and accommodations. As they rolled toward the city, Yanko keenly felt his youth—and his lack of worldliness. “We’ll head for the waterfront.”
Maybe someone disembarking from a ship would need a land-based conveyance. Not that he noticed any ships entering the harbor, not with those large and well-armed vessels stretched across the passage out to sea. It
was
a blockade. It had to be. But whose? The government’s? Or did those ships belong to the same rebels or criminals—Yanko had no idea how to think of them—who had taken over the salt mine?
He slid his hand along the control orb to choose a road that looked like it might lead through the city and to the docks. The traffic made him uneasy, with bicycles, pedestrians, and lizards harnessed to carts clogging the streets. There were carriages as well, the magical energy from them plucking at Yanko’s senses. Back home, such craft were rare. Usually, only
moksu
families and soldiers on important missions traveled in Made vehicles. They were not easy to come by and some, like this one, were passed down from generation to generation. The whole way here, they had only passed one.
“Up ahead, Yanko. Do you see that?” Lakeo plopped down onto the seat and pointed through the front window. “On that lot up there. They’re selling lizards, donkeys, and wagons. I bet you could get rid of this carriage there too.”
Yanko tried not to feel bitter that she was so eager for him to “get rid of” a machine that had been a part of his family since before his birth, and he tried even harder not to be annoyed, knowing that she only wanted the money so she could book passage to the Kyatt Islands. He hadn’t shared all the details of his quest yet, but he had admitted to his destination. She had promptly confirmed her services as bodyguard in order to secure passage. It was better than going alone, he supposed, and he had to remind himself that his family’s belongings meant nothing to her. Why should they? She hadn’t been the one stuffed in the cupboards under the seat as a child.
“I see it,” he said and slid his hand over the control sphere.
“Look out, you rich snot,” someone yelled from the side. A pale-skinned man on a donkey with pots banging from its sides veered out of the way to avoid running into Yanko. He shook a fist at the carriage as he maneuvered around it.
“Apparently, your driving skills aren’t as good as your earthquake-making skills,” Lakeo said.
“That man was very rude.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, people are. You’re the only one I know who calls everyone honored such-and-such.”
“The people in my village all do that. Most Nurians do that.”
“Oh, I’m sure they do it to you. But nobody down here is going to know you’re
moksu
, especially after you sell this box.” Lakeo thumped the wall with her fist. “If I were you, I’d keep it that way. Otherwise, you’ll be a target for every thief, bandit, and mugger who thinks you’ve got money.”
Yanko wasn’t that worried about handling himself amongst thieves, bandits, or muggers—and in what dictionary were those actually different professions?—but he conceded that it might be best not to be recognized. That hadn’t gone well for him during his exam. He wouldn’t use his clan name. Here on the coast, even the common man would have heard of his mother.
Yanko rolled the carriage into the lot. Before he and Lakeo had done more than step out, a bow-legged man with his black hair dyed red ambled up with a clipboard. He was chomping on an cigar that spat a nauseating green smoke into the air.
“Interested in buying?” He extended an arm toward his lizards and goats. Most were old and underfed. The wagons slumped wearily in the late afternoon sun, the paint peeling off the sides.
“Interested in selling,” Yanko said.
“Yeah? This your pop’s carriage? You got permission to sell it?”
Yanko bristled at the idea that he wasn’t old enough to own something like this, even if it was the truth. “It’s mine. I don’t need permission to sell it.”
Lakeo’s eyebrows twitched, but fortunately she didn’t say anything.
The man hopped inside without asking and poked at the power supply and the engine. Yanko shifted about, watching the street behind them while he waited. Even if they hadn’t seen sign of pursuit since leaving the village, he knew it had to be out there somewhere.
From the corner of the lot, he could see a few of the ships in the harbor. Numerous ones were in dock or anchored not far out, more than had been there a week earlier. Because they were trapped there, presumably. He wondered how feasible it was for a small, fast ship to sneak through a blockade at night. He would feel much better about their eluding their pursuers if they could ship out tonight. With luck, the party that had invaded his house—that had
burned
his house—wouldn’t know Zirabo was sending him to Kyatt. Once Yanko escaped land, they shouldn’t be able to track him.
The mournful cry of a coyote came from one end of the road that ran parallel to the waterfront, surprising Yanko. Wild animals in the city? Odd. Maybe they were to be loaded and taken to some other port. He took a few steps to the side so he could gauge where the cry had come from. Numerous cages stood next to an arena with benches around it. Everything from canines to great felines to the more dangerous lizards prowled behind the bars. The setup looked like a permanent installation rather than a group of cages waiting to be loaded onto some ship. A zoo or attraction of some sort, he supposed.
Yanko was about to turn his attention back to the lizard salesman, who was kicking at the wheels and grumbling about the age of the carriage, but he spotted a tall, broad-shouldered figure striding down one of the docks with a barrel over his shoulder, a figure he thought he recognized. The man towered over the Nurians he passed, even though he kept his head down, his face toward the dock, as if he were some common laborer.
“It couldn’t be,” Yanko whispered. “It’s a port city. There must be lots of foreigners.”
But lots of Turgonians? They weren’t welcome here. A few mixed bloods and daring merchants might come through, but seeing one wasn’t typical, even in a port city.